


Picture This

by nofaves



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Team USA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofaves/pseuds/nofaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brooks gives Ryan a whole new meaning to "Take a picture; it'll last longer."  Takes place at the 2010 Vancouver Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture This

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a fill to a kinkmeme prompt in June of 2010. While archiving my stuff, I discovered that was the only place it had been posted.

_Why had he agreed to this?_ he wondered for about the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. Brooks sat as still as he could, inhaled through his nose so that his lips wouldn’t move, blinked only when Ryan lowered the camera to compose another shot.

He’d never considered himself particularly attractive – his forehead was too high, his mouth too small and oddly-shaped, and his chin and cheeks plumped out when he smiled. He’d also heard all the comments through all the years about his most prominent facial feature. His stare was intimidating, crazy, wicked. He looked like an escapee from a mental hospital. Looked like he could kill with one withering glance.

Brooks Orpik was a skilled NHL defenseman – one of the hardest positions to become skilled in – but all anyone noticed were his eyes.

And Ryan Miller was no exception, it seemed. 

Brooks had known the goaltender for years – heard of him when they were both playing college hockey, met him a number of times once they’d both gone pro – but Brooks wasn’t one for messing around outside his own dressing room. Just a personal preference.

The Vancouver Olympics changed everything. 

On his way back to the dorms one day, Brooks found Ryan shooting pictures of the plaza outside the cafeteria. Brooks didn’t think twice about it; most of his teammates had either still cameras or video to record this momentous time of their lives. But as he watched Ryan shoot, he noticed how deliberate he was. Noticed how he made fine adjustments to his lens. It reminded Brooks of the media photographers he saw on a daily basis during the season.

And then as if he abruptly became aware of being watched, Ryan lowered his camera, turned toward Brooks, smiled and waved.

After a few steps in Ryan’s direction, Brooks was surprised to see the goaltender’s dark eyes narrow and his head cock to one side. His fingers began to tap lightly on his camera, as if he were going to capture Brooks’s approach on film. 

They exchanged pleasantries, and after a few minutes, Brooks said, “Thought you were getting ready to take my picture.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, that would be rude.”

“Huh?” Brooks was used to having cameras in his face – from the media in the dressing room to the fans on and off the ice. He may not have always appreciated them, but he’d come to accept them as part of the job.

“I always ask permission before I shoot someone,” Ryan explained. “Although I gotta admit, part of that is selfish. I find I get a much better photograph when my subject is willing and prepared.”

A shiver of excitement shot through Brooks, though he was at a loss to explain it. The way Ryan talked of permissions, of willingness… he wondered if there was a certain power trip to photography. He also discovered that he really didn’t want the conversation to die right here, but couldn’t find the avenue to continue. Finally, he asked, “Did you want to? Shoot me, I mean?” _Fuck, that sounded lame…_

Again Ryan cocked his head. He glanced around the plaza, then up at the sky.

_He really doesn’t want to – he’s just being polite is all,_ Brooks thought.

“Not here,” Ryan responded. “It’s all wrong. There’s too much sun and you’ll squint.”

“Where then?” Brooks asked before thinking about it. Why was this possibility so intriguing to him?

Suddenly Ryan’s eyes lit up. “I know the perfect place.”

Ten minutes later, they found themselves at the practice facility, which, because of the time of day, was sparsely populated. Ryan’s gaze panned the large weight room.

“Over there. Massage room,” he said, pointing to a door with a thin frosted window.

Ryan led the way, and after opening the door, ushered Brooks inside.

“Why here?”

Ryan smiled and pointed to the dimmer slide on the wall where Brooks had expected to see a light switch. “I was here yesterday and noticed it.” Before he closed the door and threw the privacy bolt, he nudged the slide up just a hair.

It felt a bit strange to Brooks to be locked in a tiny, dimly-lit room with another man, especially one he barely knew. But curiosity won out, and he asked, “Where do you want me?”

Ryan’s eyes widened and he swallowed convulsively. “Uh, how about… up on the, uh…” He pointed to the sheet-draped massage table.

Brooks nodded and hopped up to sit on the table. “OK, how’s this?” Once more, he noticed Ryan gulp and realized there was indeed more to this than soft lighting. Brooks smiled one of those smiles that people display when they’re in a group photo.

Ryan blinked and glanced around the room. He grabbed a skinny adjustable floor lamp, turned it on, and aimed it between Brooks’s head and the ceiling. “There. Now just hold that pose a minute…” He raised the camera, made some lens adjustments, clicked the shutter twice.

As he peered into the viewscreen, Brooks asked, “Well? How’d it come out?”

Ryan appeared distracted. “OK, I guess…” He met Brooks’s gaze and asked, “Can you, uh… lie down… on your side?”

“Sure.”

As he changed position, Ryan moved the floor lamp closer, and then stepped back to the door to slide the dimmer all the way off.

“Uh, Ryan? Don’t you think it’s gonna be too dark in here?” Brooks rested the side of his head on his upraised hand.

“No, not like that,” Ryan said. He stepped closer to Brooks and lifted his head slightly, and the gentle touch sent a tingle down Brooks’s spine. “Sorry, but one of your eyes was in the dark.” He gently steered Brooks’s arm closer, until his cheek and chin were propped on his hand.

He couldn’t be sure, but as the goalie stepped back to compose the shot, he could have sworn he’d heard Ryan whisper, “Beautiful…”

On and on this went, with Ryan snapping a few shots, then re-positioning both light and subject. But always, it seemed, the camera’s lens was tightly focused on his face. Until…

“Uh, Brooks? I…”

“C’mon, Miller. Spit it out.”

But nothing came out – it was as if the words were stuck in his throat. In fact, he actually pulled the strap over his head and laid his camera down on the counter across the room. Brooks could see that Ryan had reached the end of his comfort zone, and that if this were to continue, he might have to be coaxed to go farther.

Brooks got to his feet, reached out, placed both his hands on Ryan’s shoulders and stated, “If you want something from me, just ask.”

“Your shirt,” he blurted.

“You want my shirt?”

“Off!” Ryan must have realized how weird that sounded, so he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Can you take your shirt off?”

Brooks shook his head and waited for Ryan’s disappointed reaction. When he got it, he cupped Ryan’s cheek and raised his head to meet his gaze. “I’m not taking mine off till you take yours off.”

He watched Ryan’s cheeks redden and hoped he hadn’t pushed him too far. But just as he was about to let the goaltender off the hook, Ryan stepped back and pulled both polo and tee shirt over his head, revealing a lean but well-sculpted upper body. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ryan, and he wished he had the camera in his hand, snapping shot after shot of smooth flesh and rippling muscle.

Brooks heard a breezy whisper just then.

“It’s your turn, Orpik. Show me what you got…”

Brooks wanted to tear the shirt right off his own body. When he’d gotten it over his head, he was surprised to feel hands gliding across his pecs. Warm hands, with long fingers that prodded Brooks’s muscles to dance. And dance they did, his own fingers joining Ryan’s in joyous exploration of each other’s curves and hollows.

_Oh, it’s been so long…_ But Brooks didn’t want to think about disappointment, or longing for what he hadn’t had, or wishing that he had— No. He was here and it was now and Ryan had him bent nearly backward over the table, his lips and tongue capturing Brooks’s, driving him nearly mad with desire.

But that rational voice inside nudged him. _Not here._ He didn’t want a quickie, a pre-afternoon-nap fuck on a too-small table. Not when there were real beds back in the dorms, and a cell phone in his pocket that could get Malone out of the way.

“Ry,” he murmured reluctantly, not wanting to spoil the moment. “Grab your camera.”

“Huh?”

“Lighting’s better in my room.”


End file.
